


Thirteen Months

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Community: hd_hurtcomfort, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-06
Updated: 2007-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A war injury has left Harry bitter, broken, and very reluctant to accept help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirteen Months

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for the first challenge at hd_hurtcomfort.  
> Warnings: AU-ish, flangst, strong language.  
> Disclaimer: The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine.

_Nerve damage,_ the Mediwitch calls it, and every time he goes to have his check-up with her (which, admittedly, isn't all that often anymore because he keeps postponing the appointments), she assures him that some day, everything will be okay again.

Today is not that day, though.

The cup he knocks over sends coffee splashing in all directions and dripping down the table, and Harry curses under his breath.

"Fucking arm."

At times like this, he couldn't be more disappointed or disgusted with himself even if he tried.

In the not so distant past, he was hailed as the hero, the one in control. Some people probably assumed that there was nothing he couldn't fix.

Truth be told, he never held much weight to that kind of praise. It only made him feel awkward, definitely nothing close to special, but what he wouldn't give for even a morsel of it today, as he sits there, feeling completely useless, a miserable wreck of a man who's not even capable of drinking his coffee without making a mess.

Frowning, Draco walks over to the table and sits down next to Harry. With a quick flick of his wand, he spells the spilled liquid away and summons a fresh cup. "There," he says softly. "Careful, though. It's still hot."

"Very funny, Malfoy," Harry snaps, his vicious tone startling his companion, and adds bitterly, "Enjoying the scene, are you; watching me blunder my way through the afternoon?"

"No," Draco says softly." If you must know, I think it's most regrettable that this had to happen to you."

"Most regrettable. Right." Harry snorts. "So you're helping me out of pity. That's even better, that is."

Draco can feel tears starting to sting behind his eyelids and getting ready to flow. He grits his teeth to keep his emotions in check. It's been thirteen months now, thirteen months of this, and he truly doesn't know how much more he'll be able to take.

"No, Potter," he at last says, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I was under the impression that you and I had become friends, and after—"

Draco takes a deep breath as a series of images flashes through his mind, vivid memories of the night before the Final Battle.

Somehow, the two of them ended up talking in the kitchen. Large quantities of drink were poured, emotions ran high, and out of the blue, Potter kissed him and invited him upstairs for a night Draco would always remember.

Even though he knows full well that he should probably try to forget all about it as soon as possible, if only for the sake of his own sanity.

Harry sighs. "That night was-" He winces and automatically clutches his right arm again.

"Are you in pain?" Draco asks worriedly. "Would you like me to go and fetch a Healer?"

"No!" Harry yells. "No Healer. I've had it with all the ruddy fuss. So Voldemort managed to curse me twice and one of my arms is still worthless after more than a year. So what? I've done my duty to the world. You don't need me anymore, so why don't the bloody lot of you leave me the hell alone already?"

Draco says nothing. He just sits there speechless, staring at the man next to him, the man he has fallen in love with, even if Harry doesn't have a clue, and moreover, even if he did know, Draco's sure Harry wouldn't accept any love, not anymore, least of all from someone he once loathed.

Maybe that night was a mistake. Maybe it didn't mean a thing.

Except that it did.

Well, it meant a great deal to Draco, at any rate.

It still does and he can't get it out of his mind. He isn't willing to Obliviate himself, either, although that would probably make both their lives a whole lot easier.

"Why are you still here anyway?" Harry asks bitterly. "You can sod off back to Wiltshire, can't you? All the others have already left. I'm sure they're perfectly happy, getting on with their lives."

_Yes,_ Draco thinks sadly, _you've managed to build a wall around you, shut out everyone else, chased them away or scared them off, and frankly, I'm not far behind. I'd tell you that you're breaking my heart, but you probably wouldn't believe I even have one. _

Draco clears his throat. "If you ask me to leave, I'll go," he says flatly, and thinks: _Right, it's your move now, Potter, and if you decide to end it, kill this tentative friendship—or whatever it is, here's your chance; an easy way out. You only have to say the word. And perhaps that would be the best option for both of us anyway, in the long run. _

The truth of the matter is that Draco would gladly stay at Grimmauld Place forever, just to be with Harry. Even if it means that his affections will never be reciprocated, even if the two of them will never share another night like that again, even if Potter remains aloof and unable to show him just the slightest bit of friendship or gratitude.

Draco swallows hard. "Well, Potter? I'm waiting. Do you want me to go?"

Harry looks at him then, eyes wide. "I—"

"Yes? Spit it out. These past thirteen months, I've looked after you, assisted you with tedious paperwork, helped you get around...I've told the press, countless fans, even your bloody friends to bugger off because you couldn't deal with them or plain didn't want to. On top of that, I've put up with your moods, your tantrums, your frustration, your endless put-downs, but frankly, if you don't even want me around, then I don't see why I should still bother. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not some half-witted Hufflepuff and any moral debts I may have had to you once have certainly been paid in full by now."

He rises from his chair, ready to pack up and leave.

"No. Wait. Please."

Harry's left hand is on Draco's arm, and then Draco sees something he hasn't seen before.

Tears.

Finally, Harry is crying. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," he chokes out. "It's just— I feel so incredibly useless."

In a matter of seconds, Draco is hunched down next to him, pulling him into a tight embrace and for the first time since his final confrontation with Voldemort, Harry weeps. Because his once strong arm has been rendered useless, and in all of his life, he has never felt so hopeless or inadequate or weak.

"I don't want you to go, Draco," he says once the tears have subsided after what feels like an eternity. "Please, don't go."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be, Harry," he says truthfully and they kiss again for the first time in a long time, slowly and carefully, almost like they're both afraid to cause the other even more hurt.

"Your coffee's getting cold," Draco finally says. He releases Harry and stands up again to return to his own seat.

Harry nods and takes a sip. Then he grabs Draco's hand and they remain there in silence.

After a long time has passed, Draco announces, "I'm arranging an appointment with a Muggle doctor for you next week. A specialist."

Harry looks like he wants to protest, but before he does, the gravity behind the simple words he just heard starts to sink in.

Draco Malfoy is willing to give Muggle medicine a chance. For him.

Harry takes a deep breath. "All right," he says, and lightly squeezes the hand he's holding. "Anything you want, Draco."


End file.
